From my Cheddar.

1. What are the top three things you like about your job? Top three dislikes?

Likes:
1) I get to travel, travel, travel. I have been all over the world, and it will keep going (as long as I am not made redundant in November, that is).
2) Great phones and phone subscriptions, for free!
3) That I have made it all this way, to where I am today, but working hard, continuing to ask for more responsibility, and a manager that believes in me.

Dislikes:
1) 4 rounds of redundancies in the past two years, with the biggest one to date coming up in 6 weeks.
2) The politics, rumors and back-stabbing are going to give me a nervous breakdown (again).
3) The coffee sucks.

2. What do you wish you could do on your weekends?

Be left alone, mostly. With alcohol. And Colin Firth. And I could write the great American novel while he slaved away in the kitchen making me homemade macaroni and cheese. Which he would feed to me naked, in candlelight. Hey-it's my weekend!

3. What architectural style appeals to you the most and why?

I love architecture from about the 1900's-1930's. The detail to the molding, the light fixtures, and the high ceilings. The house we own was built in 1909, and I am wildly in love with it.

4. If your house was on fire and your family and pets were safe but you could only grab three things, what would they be?

1) my briefcase (as it would contain my wallet, phone, and laptop)
2) my Doggy Blanket - it was sewn by one of my great-grandmothers, who died when I was two. It is pink and very ugly, but it is such a comfort fixture for me. I have had it my whole life and plan to always do so.
3) a yellow plastic puffer fish bathtoy. It is the one perfect inheritance I got from my beloved grandfather, who died four years ago. It's monetary value is absolutely nothing, but it is priceless to me.

5. What was the last premonition you had come true?

That my Dear Mate would indeed be moving his family away. And he is. And sometimes I think I will never be able to forgive him for it, sometimes I think I can never go on, and sometimes think nothing will change between he and I, regardless of the move, that nothing could tear our friendship apart. It is indeed a major cause of angst.

That, and that Monchichi would make a comeback.

6. What is love?

Love is the first person you want to talk to in the morning and the last one you want to talk to before you go to bed, the first person you want to tell when things go wonderfully well or horribly wrong. It is telling them everything. It is trusting them even when it is against everything you ever were. And it is sizzling passion that makes you blind.

And that crap about "Love is never having to say you're sorry?" Totally wrong. Love is having to say you're sorry all the time.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:45 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Better words than I could have.

Voices, here.

And one more thing:

This poem became well known in the UK after a soldier was killed by
terrorists in Northern Ireland - he left if to be read by his parents in the
event of his death. It's old but nobody is too sure of its origin:

Do not stand by my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 03:23 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I had a long, hard think about what to write. I even thought today that I should avoid any happy, sarcastic postings. I think I am lacking words (and anyway, so many others have used those words more efficaciously than I) to describe just how atrocious the event was. How it changed the scope of the world and altered many lives forever. How, from that day on, so many of us were marked permanently as we lost our innocence, or feelings of safety, and our knowledge that no matter what, the U.S. mainland was always a pillar of strength and security. We were the ones who came to the aid of others in their time of need. Nobody could touch us in our borders.

Until they did.

And I wasn't inside the borders of safety when it happened. I was outside, looking in. I was a member of the troops that had been seperated from the unit in the worst battle yet.

I had a meeting at 3:00 pm, or 9:00 Eastern time. Just after, my phone started going nuts. I ignored it. I hate taking telephone calls (ironic that I work in telecom, eh?) We tried to dial in a few people for the meeting, who were in the U.S. at that time. The circuits were constantly busy. We figured there was just a network problem and gave up. The meeting continued for a while, then a bit later we had a coffee break, where I ran into my manager.

"Something is going on in your country." he said.
"What?" I asked, bored, preparing myself. People liked having a go at my country.
"I don't know. Something about New York and planes crashing."
"What?" I asked. This was strange. What was he talking about?

My phone rang then. It was my Mom, and she was crying. She told me that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. Another hit the Pentagon. Still another was suspected to be heading towards the White House. Then she had to go.

I was in shock. This had to be a joke, the worst media hoax in the history of bad media hoaxes. This just didn't happen. Not even Hollywood could be that fucked up to make this up.

But I had to go back to my meeting and keep going. I felt dizzy and sick, but my day had to go on. My manager was there, his manager was there, and his manager was there. I had to pull it together.

When I was done, I raced home and watched the news all evening. I cried a lot. I didn't understand it all. I went to the U.S: Embassy and found that hundreds of Swedes had, too. And they had left a wonderful and supportive testimony of how shocked and outraged they were, too.

And through it all, we mourned. But unlike the U.S., we couldn't grieve as long or as deeply. We had to pick up and keep going, move faster. We were a part of it, but weirdly not a part of it. The anniversary is quietly noted here. It is in the news, but not the leading story (and certainly not today, when Sweden is suffering its own horror). I found this a bit odd.

I talked to an English colleague yesterday, who put things into perspective for me: "You have to understand, H. What happened it above and beyond all levels of horrible. But in Europe most of us have been facing homeland terrorism for a long time. I don't know how many thousands have died in horrible ways from IRA bombs loaded with nails, bombs that killed scores of women and children. We don't mark each of those days, we only try to keep going."

And the bombings in Spain. Greece. There was a bombing in a shopping mall in Finland last year that didn't even make the U.S. news pages. Although what happened in the U.S. was the worst of all ghastly bombings in the history or terrorism, the people here are more battle weary. They mourned just as deeply as we did, but they have already been toughened to the staggering nightmare of home terrorism.

I will never, ever forget what happened. And I will never, ever forget the anniversary. But to me, here in Europe, we have to keep going. This does not mean move on and forget. It means that we have to feel sad and mark the day in our hearts, but not let the grief and the memory shut us down.

I am brought back to one fact: on the day it happened, I had to keep going. I had meetings, issues, things to do. I still do. But that doesn't mean I will ever "get over it". I just get to go on, like the rest of the EU.

Wonder if I will get a blitzing for this post...

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:42 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Maybe some of you have read about it, maybe you haven't, but we had quite a big thing happen here in Sweden yesterday.

The Foreign Minister Anna Lindh, Sweden's version of the Secretary of State, was stabbed last night while in a department store (for full story, get it here). This is the equivalent of the death of Colin Powell, or Jack Straw.

These things don't happen here. People are overwhelmingly safe. The only people who have bodyguards in Sweden are the Prime Minister, the King, and the Crown Princess (in Sweden the first born becomes the next ruler, regardless of gender).

In fact, they don't even have bodyguards all the time. A colleague recently told me of a school field trip that his daughter was on. They went to the island of Djurgården, which is a beautiful island in the center of Stockholm with a number of fabulous museums. There, the whole group bumped into the King, walking his dog. With no bodyguards. According to my colleague:

The King comes over to greet the school trip.
His daughter regards the King. "Whazzup, King?" she asks him (or the Swedish equivalent).
"Whazzup?" he replies. In Swedish, of course.
Then they all walk away.

Apparently, said daughter later got a lesson in how to address royalty later.

But this is an example. Things are low-key here. The politicians and royalty enjoy being close to the people. Sweden is safe. Until now, again. The last time something happened of this magnitude was when the Prime Minister Olof Palme was assassinated in 1986. The crime was never solved.

I was in Gothenburg when the last time there was an EU summit, for a business meeting. Let me tell you, it was not a good place to be an American in at that time. The town is ordinarily so peaceful, the people so kind, that the ugliness that was unleashed was awful. I remember seeing, as my SAS plane landed at the airport, Air Force One sitting on the tarmac. It was surrounded by armed marines, and there was another plane also equally guarded, apparently the carrier of GWB's many secret service agents. The irony is that as I was landing and looking for a cab to take me to Company X's Gothenburg office, the Norwegian Prime Minister was also landing. He flew a SAS flight, on economy. When he landed, he called a cab to take him to the summit. He was all alone, not a bodyguard in sight.

I love that.

I relly like it here sometimes, but it would not shock me if Anna Lindh's crime does not get solved either. The press are saying it was not political, however Sweden is in the middle of a political firestorm, as the vote for the Euro comes this weekend. Anna has been the most strident proponent for the Euro, which does not look like will pass this weekend. I can't believe that her near assassination does not have something to do with it.

I told my Partner Unit last night that I figured her case would (sadly) end up like Olof Palme's-unsolved. He stubbornly resisted that. I pointed out that the police seem to really stress out over high-profile cases (apparently the Palme case was riddled with errors, but I have no info on that).

"Not like they always catch murderers in the U.S. in high-profile cases." he pointed out.
"Generally they do." I replied defensively.
"J.F.K." he replied, looking at me.
"They caught...a guy." I said.
"A guy?"
"Yes, Oliver Stone, they caught a guy. Lone gunman and all that." Even I knew I was talking out of my ass, but he allowed it.
"And what about O.J.?" he asks.
"Oh," I reply breezily. "He did it, I am sure. That was just a distortion of justice."
"Ah. Totally different thing." he replied.

I like Anna Lindh, actually, even though I am divided on how I feel about the Euro and I do hope she survives. And anyway, once the storm dies down on the horror of what happened, a new debate will come, which I am bracing myself for-how the violent images and impressions from the U.S. are affecting European society.

The kid gloves will be off then, I assure you.

-H.

PS-an update: Anna Lindh died at 0529 this morning. People are in tears in the office, and in a state of general shock. Anna Lindh will be sorely missed.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:59 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I had to attend a Swedish event last Friday. It was not so fun.

My partner unit has been a part of a stock club for a while. That's right, these five boys get together and buy stocks. They currently are up about 140,000 SEK (about $17,000 or 15,000 Euros). The plan is to buy a summer house in the Swedish countryside to share.

Boy, am I excited. Nothing like living in the mosquito-infested woods in a house with no plumbing, no cell phone coverage, and no electricity (summer houses in Sweden generally have none of these). Sign me up! Whoo-boy, talk about fun! Look, John-Boy I am not. I have no problem with camping, roughing it, etc, but sharing a house with four other couples and dealing with their latrine issues is about as fun as going to my dentist. At least there he promises sexual action.

Anyway, the wives all joined for this meeting, too. I say wives, although they were almost all girlfriends (remember, the Swedes are not big on marriage), so I was only one of two wives. I was also the only one without kids, and the youngest woman there by a good number of years-they were 56, 43, 43, and 35. And right away, the men go off with a few bottles of wine and their stock documents. I get stuck with the women. The following was discussed:

- child care anecdotes
- how inferior the American maternity leave system is
- child care anecdotes
- golf
- child care anecdotes
- how rewarding children are
- child care anecdotes

I don't think I said a single word in those discussions. At one point the hostess asked if she could feed the Evil One (see The Child Debate post from yesterday). I said yes, anything but pork (the only reason he cannot have it is pork products give dogs diarrhea, sometimes. I was not keen on being in that environment with a violently ill dog. Although it would have been a nice distraction.)

"No pork?" she asked, an enormous hot dog in her hands.
"No pork," I replied.
"Why not?"
"The dog's Jewish."
She looked at me funny and walked away.

The children discussion resumed.

At one point, I got up and called my partner over. He ambled over, and I stood on the steps of the house while he came closer. I put my arms around him and pulled him closer. The Poker Boys started making cat calls. The Swedish women started making comments on how lovely it was to see we were still doing so well. My partner unit leaned in close.

"My Darling," I murmered softly, smiling at him. I planted a kiss on his cheek.
"Yes Honey?" he replied, smiling back, smoothing my hair. The Poker Boys were really jeering now.
"If you don't take me out of here I am killing myself and everyone within a three mile radius."

The evening did get better, albeit with lots of alcohol help. One of the girlfriends started to grill me on Swedish history once she learned that I was applying for Swedish citizenship. All I can really say about their history is that they're still pretty pissed off at the Danes for a stunt they pulled about 500 years ago. Forgiving people they are not. Then she asked me about Sten.

"Don't you know who Sten is?" she demanded.
"Er...no." I replied.
"Don't you think you should?"
"Why, do I owe him money?"
"What?"
"What?"
"If you are going to be a citizen, then you should know about our government." she asserted.
"Yeah, I do. Göran Persson is the prime minister." This said, defensively.
"Ugh! don't ever speak his name to me! If so, we cannot be friends."
"Gee, what a shame. Did not know that was on offer."
"You don't know Sten?"
"Oh, we're back to him?"
"Yes."
"No. I don't know him. And you are the scariest woman I have ever met."
"I know. I pride myself on it." she replied, triumphantly. "Now go read about Sten!"

Whatever. You're just old and bitter.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 12:45 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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...who you are. But thanks for the intriguing post. I wonder if what I have said (and if it had a positive effect!)

- H.

PS-eeks. I wonder if it is someone who has figured out who I am!

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Come, gather 'round. I have to tell you a little story.

A personal one. For real, and you will likely not find much humor in this one, so if it is humor you seek...well, I have a few things to write about today, let me hope one of the other posts at least cracks a smile.

I have been an insane work-freak for most of my adult life. As in "work is my everything, always". Relationships have ended over my job, I have teetered on exhaustion and combusting mental health, and I have lost people in my life due to work. More than once I have heard the words passing from a man's lips: "This is it, H. You have to choose work or me!" And I would shrug, and walk away, even if my heart broke a little (or a lot, in one instance). Work has been the one thing in life that has been my focus, kept me going, kept me driving. There was always another level to achieve, more work I could take on, someone I needed to prove myself to. Work is life, comrade.

I am not for one second pulling an teary Oprah moment when I say that work is likely so important to me because of my upbringing. I don't pull that blame shit. Having a bad day? It's likely not because your father is an alcoholic. Unable to be in a successful relationship? We have only ourselves to blame. But I can say that after my parents' divorce, my mother instilled in me a hard-core drive to always be fully independent and self-sufficient. This is not a bad thing, I think, just an attitude. A behavior. A survival instinct. I don't need a man to take care of me, honey. They're nice accessories, but not needed as daily wear. I will earn my own money, have my own accounts, and work in whatever way I see fit.

Once I graduated from college I went headfirst into a stockbroking firm. I worked my ass off and hated my job. I was miserable and didn't see the point. A tip from a close friend led me to a consulting firm, which plugged me into a telecom operator job (not the kind where women holding brightly colored plugs answer in nasly voices "Hello Operator, how may I direct your call?" but a telecom giant in the South. I worked in their corporate offices writing training material on their equipment, all those humming boxes that make your telephones in the US work at home and in the office.) It was heaven. I could work as much as I want.

Then the consultancy firm put me in with my current company, Company X. I would be writing training material on even bigger whirring boxes that make your phones work. I worked 60-80 hour weeks, weekends, evenings, it didn't matter. I traveled three weeks out of every month-Sweden, England, Singapore, anywhere, everywhere.

Then I moved to Sweden and bumped into the perfect job. I took it on in February 2001, working on the whirring boxes that make your cell phones work, and never looked back. Masses of responsibility, constant travel, and people I genuinely enjoyed working with. I worked my ass off, and loved it all. It was heaven. I worked with a project manager that I got on great with and we were actually friends.

Then came redundancies. I survived the first round with zero problem or, I admit, worry. The second round came 6 months later, and again there was little worry or problem.

Then came the third round, and my fear was that a little white American girl who had not been with Company X very long would be hung out with the laundry. I wasn't. But many people I love were. And 56% of my department went.

I was promoted and given more responsibility. I worked harder than ever, but I began to become disenfranchised with it all. I was still on top, still working hard, still surrounded by people I liked and could work with.

It all came to a screeching halt in January, 2003. I found out, from my Dear Mate, that people were talking about me. That rumor had it there would be more redundancies and my name was top of the list to go. Company X was sorry they kept me. People thought I was incompetent and arrogant. I was a waste of space. And my Dear Mate told me the project manager I got on with so well had actually bad-mouthed me to many people, including him.

No one believed in me. No one.

I fell apart. And I was off work for three months. When I returned, I was put into a less stressful position, although I am once again taking on more responsibility. If I can keep this responsibility, I might just survive the next round of cuts, the ones that are coming in Novemeber to the tune of 33%. My manager gave me the highest pay raise in the group.

But I still can't shake the feeling like I am being labelled incompetent and useless, even though people around me tell me otherwise-"They will never let you go in the next round of redundancies". "You are one of the few that work hard and handle the big issues." "You are one of the few people who knows what they are talking about." I feel like a tiny glass shell that is on the edge of a desk. A few more knocks and it will slide me right off.

My Dear Mate told me yesterday a few of the names of people who had allegedly said these rumors. They are people who are warm and friendly to me still, and I feel a bit cut up. Is it true? Could they have said those things?

It's hard to be a good person sometimes. Maybe we all get wrapped up in our lives, our problems, our insecurities. I have a few people in my life that, when someone makes a negative comment-or even tries to!-I get pretty snarly with them. It made me realize that maybe they don't know how well I regard them, how good I think they are. And if I am in need of someone within Company X pulling me aside and saying "Look, H. Fuck 'em. You're good, we need you, case closed!" then maybe they are in need of it too.

I am the type of person that comes across as cocky, independent, maybe even cold sometimes. But I have learned that I need people even more than I had ever suspected. Men...no longer an accessory, but someone to try to rely on. I am still working on that. Leaning does not come easy after you've been standing so long by yourself.

The truth is, I can't believe in myself if no one else does. And despite some of the very nice comments I get from people, I never know if I can trust them now.

Not anyone.

Take a minute and tell the friends you have in their life, who are maybe having a rough day, that they do a good job and should be proud.

All done with my Hallmark moment.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 12:16 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My Sony Ericsson T610 does a pretty good job of taking photos (it's the one on the top row, third from the left). This is one of me, taken by the camera in my cute mobile phone, in my problem VW. I love my phone. I will die with it, clutched in my feeble hands, I am sure.

Modern technology. It is here.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:41 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Now, I have already figured out that Sitemeter, she no work (let's see, one meter says I have 106 page views a day. But another stats I run says I have over 500. I wonder what the truth is....). But I did some checking on things, and found that the average visit length to my site is 45 seconds.

45 seconds. That doesn't seem like a very long time. Of course, I understand that this is the average. Maybe some people come here and realize, within 2 seconds, that this is not the blog they seek. They move along. Maybe others come and pour through my archives seeking the meaning of life, or at the very least how to please me (hint: it involves champagne, lilies, and absolute world power).

So I tried to figure out what you can do in 45 seconds. I timed things this morning. Mostly, because I am sad and pathetic, but also since I wondered what a 45 second chunk can get you. I learned:

- shaving my legs (knee down) - 29 seconds (although that may be a function of the fact that we have very little hot water)
- time for a Diet Coke to vend - 16 seconds
- time to pee - 56 seconds (but then I have a very tiny bladder and pee a lot, so it's down to a science with me)
- time to listen to a song - 3 minutes 46 seconds (the song was "Aisha", by the way. I didn't pick it, I just timed it on the radio)
- time to log in - 1 minute 30 seconds (fucking Microsoft updates)
- time to put on my makeup - 2 minutes 10 seconds (but then I go for the full deal, albeit in a "natural-look" way)
- time to read the latest entries on this hilarious site - 36 seconds.

Ah. 36 seconds. Without making a comment. So I am able to take in my voyeuristic recommended daily intake of the day in under a minute. So my 45 seconds is like overachieving, really. If I am the benchmark, that is.

Now, what gets me, is Jim's visitors have an average visitor length of 55 seconds. What does he have that I don't have? We have a ten second difference. Ten seconds! On blog pages, that must be like a lifetime! It's like dog years on a blog page. 10 seconds could be thousands of hits within your reach!

In fact, if you just read that above paragraph (and did not need "Hooked on Phonics" when you were a kid), that should have taken you just about 10 seconds to read.

The things you could have done with those ten seconds...they are gone now...

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:25 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Is a debate that is currently on hold in our household. Until then, may I introduce you to our existing children.

This is a picture of Maggie (named after Maggis Simpson) and Mumin (named after a Finnish cartoon called Mumintrollet). They are otherwise referred to in our household as "The Evil Bitches". I cannot be sure, but I imagine that I am the one who coined that name. They are not related, but look like the same cat. There is one difference-Maggie is very smart but very clumsy. Mumin is very dumb and very devious. Mumin is, obviously, "my" cat.

This is our son, Ed. Named after the lawyer who owns a bowling alley, Ed Stevens (my partner has requested that if we have children I do not name them after TV shows. I don't know, maybe a child named "Bonanza" is a good thing). Ed's nickname is "The Evil One", which suggests that he is the ringleader of his beloved Evil Bitches.

Now, before you go thinking it, although yes, Ed is a Collie, any similarity to Lassie therein is a mistake. Lassie is a wonderful heroine who saves the day. Ed is not only a male dog, but he could give a shit about any type of rescue issue. Should Timmy fall down a well, Timmy would be fucked. Ed would not go for help. In fact, he would probably go and fetch a stick, dropping it on the poor supine boy and dashing any last hopes of dislodging said small child from the well.

He is a very good dog, though. He is amazingly distrustful and does not like anyone but my partner and I. Although he was bought for me he likes me second best since I do the horrible things to him like cut his nails and tick-check. Word of advice: if you get a dog, make your partner do the unpleasant chores, so that the dog will hate them.

Ed is the best dog I have ever owned in my life. The second-best was a Sheltie, which is really a convenient travel-sized version of a Collie.

These are my children. And they are screwed up enough to be on Oprah, trust me. I think me having the real thing would be a hazard to everyone's health.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:07 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Those who know the real me and my early readers (johnr, darling, I am talking about you) know that I have one screwed-up problem which makes my life very difficult, to say the least.

I am an insomniac.

I Like, a rabid one. Going on 10 months now.

I just don't sleep. I can't sleep. I want to sleep. I think about sleep, and yearn for sleep. But when it comes time to sleep, nada. Doesn't happen. I whirl around in the bed, get my sheets all knotted up, and itty bitty problems become huge. The smallest detail is unsolveable. It no work. My partner and I have not been to bed at the same time in a very long time. One would ask why I don't just stay up and let sleep take me...um, I tried that. Once I hit the 50 hour mark and decided that Cheez-Its were the saviour of mankind, I decided I am not meant to stay up so long. Then again, maybe Cheez-Its are our saviours, I may never know now.

So I have a whole variety of medications to try to solve said problem. They are categorized thus:

- the child tabs. My doctor prescribed me some sleeping tabs that she said "are even used on children". Now, that's all well and good and I don't feel at all like a drug addict, but my question is: who drugs their children to sleep at night? And why? And are these people known to the authorities? I mean, Christ-you can't feed your kids funky muffins here in Sweden but feeding them narcotics must be ok). I do not take these, though, since they make my legs jump around all night. Not an attractive feature in a sleep partner.

- the bitter tabs. These work, but make every single thing you eat for the next 24 hours taste like it had been used in the "Bitter Beer Face" commercials. It even makles the air your breathe bitter. Not that's fucked up.

- the crazy tabs. These are the gold trophies of sleeping tabs. You take them, and at some point- WHAM! You have been knocked upside the head by Mike Tyson wearing two laptops tied to his hands. You get all spacy and weird and have to be escorted to the bedroom at some point in order to keep from curling up and calling it a day in front of the fireplace. I love these ones, but am very worried about the addictive side effects so I try to avoid using them unless in extreme circumstances.

- melatonin. Bought in the US and carried across the Atlantic, I prefer these. The other natural alternatives-valerian and whatnot-do not work. Melatonin are natural and effective, although give me a headache when I wake up. My doctor is 100% against them and wants me to avoid them. Then again, what would she know, she gives sleeping tablets to kids.

Why am I telling you this? In a fit of desperation I have bought this over the web.

I will give it a try tonight and let you know. Chances are my partner unit will not be pleased at falling asleep next to the smell.

-H.

PS- the differences between the numbers in Sitemeter and BlogStats is amazing. I am either a complete failure or a success at this. I like to think I walk the middle line there.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:29 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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...to leave Sweden is often enormous. But for many reasons, I really feel I cannot say that. But just when I think I am sooooo ready to go, I run across a 14th century castle, an 11th century Rune stone, and a cute town on the water.

This is Mariefred, a town about one hour outside of Stockholm.

This is Grippsholm, a castle started in 1380 and finished in the 17th century.

This is a Rune stone. There are masses of them in our neighborhood. This one says something about someone's brother killing someone before he died, but my memory, she is not so good on these details lately.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 01:05 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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to you. Now will you make Blogger work on the weekends, instead of crashing?

-H...considering moving her blog to a more friendly domain but absolutely clueless as to where to do it...

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:06 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This week's CheddarX!

1. What is the best or most sentimental vacation you have ever taken and why?

I have had many very memorable vacations, but he most sentimental would be a trip I had many lifetimes ago to the island of Jersey. Jersey is a channel island in between the coasts of England and France. Let's just say that my visit there will remain a highlight in my life forever. But it is tied with another great vacation I have had-I went to the Seychelles (an island chain off the southeast coast of Africa) in March. Talk about paradise, and absolutely the best diving and snorkelling I have ever seen. It is rumored to be the orginial Garden of Eden, and I can't agree more with the assessment.

2. Which poses the next-what is the worst or most regrettable?

Last July my partner unit and I went with my two best friends and their families to an island called Gotland, which is off the coast of Sweden. There were many delicate sensitivities already between us all-namely that my best friends' wives did not really like me-and it all blew up horribly at the end of the vacation during an evening of drunkenness and fits of confession and marriage ending. All of the friendships were blown apart, none of the families associate any longer, and my best friends and I...well, we recovered, but some aspects of that trip still linger between us like the big dead horses that they are. I would give anything to not have ever taken that trip.

3. If you could go back and change one decision or action that you made, what would it be?

All those perms. Definitely. Or else to have actually worn my retainer like I promised my orthodontist in order to avoid weird rabbit-like teeth.

4. What are you most proud of in your life?

The fact that everything I have and as far as I have gone I owe to myself-I worked very hard, never stopped believing that I could keep going in life, and wouldn't let people tell me that what was expected of me was all I can do.

Hopefully, you visualized the Rocky running up and down the steps scene when you read that. With the chorus of Queen's "We are the Champions" playing in the background.

5. What one memory from your childhood sticks out most in your mind?

My sister and I didn't always get along, but when we did we were great. Everyday we would come home and play "Super Mario Brothers" and eat popcorn until we felt like throwing up. We would then watch the film "Clue", which we still can recite word for word to this day. Those were the days, man.

6. What are your thoughts on homosexual marriage?

Go for it. It's already legal here in Sweden, and I think it should be. If a person loves someone, they love someone. Who is the government to say no? Although I guess the definition of a person is flexible-after all, in Wales a guy was allowed to marry his horse. But it was a female horse, so guess that's not a homosexual marriage.

7. What 3 laws would you change or enact if you had the power to do so?

- Abortion- legal, legal, legal. But none of that abortion at the 5 months stage unless due to a medical emergency (the partial birth story). I am no expert on when it is murder or not, after all most abortions take place when the baby is still a dividing cell, but still, I think there are limits.
- Kids that get taken away from negligent or abusive households should be allowed to be adopted by a loving family post-haste. None of this parental rights bullshit. You forfeited those when you beat your kids, man. Let the kids go to someone who will give them a chance.
- Legalize marijuana. I know people with glaucoma that could benefit from this. I actually have never tried it (I swear, I swear! I am not pulling a Bill Cinton here!) but have no problem with people that have.
- I actually have a fourth, too-better care for people with mental illnesses. For far too long, they have been stigmatized and ignored. It's time people understood that these are (generally) chemical problems, no different from any other disease and just as worthy of treatment. So you likely won't see any "crazy" jokes on this blog. Unless I am referring to myself, of course. A side route off the deep end is just around the corner...

-H.

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I had a nightmare about my dentist the other night. I dreamt that he was part of a weird sexual cult, and was trying to indoctrinate me into it. He showed up wearing a wet leather fetish outfit and a thick gold chain, bearing Black and Decker power tools. I am not recounting this as an attempt to reinforce negative sterotypes about dentists, but if that is the effect I have, I can live with that.

I hate going to the dentist. I just hate it. I went last week where, to my horror, it was uncovered that I have two cavities underneath previously filled teeth. So I have a whole lot of fun coming next week when I get this fixed. The whole meeting went badly, seeing as my Swedish failed me miserably. It started:

"How many times a year do you go to the denitst?" he asked (or so I thought.)
"Once." I said, feeling very virtuous indeed.
"Once?"
"Once."
"Once?"
"Er, yes. Any more than that and I will admit to an S&M craving."
"You only floss once a year?"
"What?"
"I asked you how many times a day you floss."
"Oh! Sorry. I don't do it daily, but once or twice a week."

At this point Nurse Ratchett the dental hygenist swooped in.

"You don't do it after every meal?" she screeched.
"No, I have a life." I replied.
"Honestly?"
"Look, I brush in the morning and before bed. And anytime I eat something dodgy and will be asked to perform sexually." I felt defensive.
She whipped out a picture of an ice cream cone and a candied apple.
"Do you know how much sugar is in these?" she asked tersely.
"Don't know, can't you buy the kind made with Nutra Sweet?"
"Do you?"
"No, and I don't care. I don't eat them."
"Use your imagination. And imagine yourself flossing after every meal."
Whatever. Takes up valuable imagination space in my brain for other more entertaining things.

The dentist spoke Swenglish to me the rest of the appointment (Swedish + English). It resulted in the best Swenglish-ism I have heard to date.

Bear in mind, the Swedish word for cavity is "hål". Pronounced "hole".

You can see where this is going, perhaps.

As I left, he said to me:
"See you Monday, when I will fill your holes."

Sorry buddy, you don't even know me. You have to buy me a drink first. And I am not flossing after I drink it.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 11:15 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Get it here.

-H.

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In an episode of Cheddar a few weeks ago, I said I didn't know of any examples of ironic justice, that I was more compelled to gullible idealism.

I stand corrected. Justice it is.

-H.

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But this may be a step too far.

It's like having sex with a Muppet. It just isn't done.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 12:33 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Bet the title got your attention, eh?

I am back. I am still fucked-up worried about losing my job, and find myself taking on more responsibilities at work as I go in a bid to prove how essential I am, but all I can do is hang out and wait. And go crazy. But seeing as going crazy was inevitable anyway, I might as well go with the flow.

Seeing as how I have needed some things to occupy my gray matter, I have put together an Excel spreadsheet. This was of course done instead of working on my novel, but fuck it. I can't focus right now. I tend to over-analyze situations, and this spreadsheet was yet another example of how I review, to the most minute detail, personal parts of my life.

My Excel spreadsheet is a list of the partners that I have had throughout my sex-going adult life. It includes lots of information, such as:

- Quality
- Nationality
- Sex (um...Layne is not the only one to have played for both teams).

And a few other details. It is quite an interesting undertaking, and I am pleased with the results. I realize it may make me sound like a ho, but I honestly have not had as many partners as establishing a spreadsheet may imply. What I have found is:

- Most of my early partners were very, very bad.
- To quote "Four Weddings and a Funeral"-'Less partners than Madonna, more than Princess Di.' (may she rest in peace).
- The worst lovers to emerge from the results were of the following nationality: Italian, and Finnish. This does not mean that all Italians and Finns are bad lovers. Just the ones I had. Of course.
- The best lovers, surprisingly, were English. I say surprisingly since the English seem to have a reputation of going for a bump, a tickle and a squirt. Or else they go for the wrong...er...entrance. But actually, I have had three partners who were English. Absolutely bed-thumpingly, screaming, gasping, orgasmingly perfect. One in particular shines as my best sex ever.
- The road to orgasm was a long, hard, road fraught with pitfalls and perils. Re: the Italian and the Finnish guy.
- I have been...shall we say...liberal with my sexual experiences (not in terms of number, but in terms of activity). This is amusing to me, since (in general) all of my previous partners fall on the conservative side of the sexual post. They simply have not known about most of my adventures.
- Women can be quite brazen and exciting in bed. Provided this is not their first time. That takes some work.
- It's all about using your imagination and fantasizing, baby.

I am still tempted to set up a "fantasy a day" service, whereby you can receive a text message or an email daily about an exciting fantasy to attempt self-relations to. However, this may backfire horribly, so I will wait on the idea.

Just wanted to give you something to wake up to...

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:37 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Sorry, kids. Just heard from our head honchos that the employment axe is swinging again. 25% of our division to go and the hardest hit will be my group. I will not know if I have a job or not for another 2 months. To say I am deeply stressed and worried is an understatement.

I have been through four rounds-yes, that's right, count them-four. The last round was the worst, we lost something like 56% of our department. We came in to work one day and our managers told us to cancel all meetings. Stay in our offices. They will come round, one by one, and tell us if we had jobs or not.

It was hell. I survived, but sobbing others didn't. Those of us that were left were not only de-moralized, but had the "guilt syndrome"-we survived, but so many good, hard-working others didn't. We felt bad. Now more rounds are coming, and I find that I am already shaking with worry. This time will be closer for me than the others, I think. I had to swtich jobs in May, since I just couldn't handle the stress of my old job, I was falling apart. I worry that it will be held against me. For me, all of my adult life, my job has been everything.

See, if I lose my job, I will be welcomed with open arms to Fuckedville. That's right, a town of my very own. I am in Sweden on a work visa, sponsored by my company. If I lose my job, then I lose my visa. In order to get a visa for personal reasons (i.e. married to a Swede), I cannot be in the country while they process my application. This will take up to 6 months. In the meantime, the likelihood of me finding a job here is about as high as Britney Spears winning an Oscar for her acting.

But since I am not willing to go back to the US right now, I have to find a job in the EU. For this, I need an EU passport (which is in the works, however may not be ready for a month or so). However, my partner unit says if I leave Sweden to find a job in the EU, I am doing it alone. He does not want to sell our house.

Worst case scenario-I lose my job, lose my house, lose my partner, gain an alcohol dependency.

I am just going to try to get through my day today (last meeting ends at four pm) and then I will go home, wrap myself in flannel pajamas, and drink while watching reruns of Will and Grace.

I will try to find my mo tonight, and be back with humor tomorrow.

-H.

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